Is the End At Hand? TV sports' puzzling injustices and cruel ironies invite despair--but leave a glimmer of hope

Life is unfair. God is a cipher. Fate is a riddle, wrapped in amystery, inside an enigma, rolled in a burrito. How else toexplain that Stephen Hawking can't speak, and Dan Dierdorf can?That Muhammad Ali has lost the use of his smile muscles, but BobKnight retains full frowning capability? That ESPN2 has a tickerthat never stops, and you have one that does?

Suffice it to say that life can be perverse. But is it hopeless?Only if you consider that Keith Jackson's television career endson Jan. 4, but Jim Rome's is just getting started. Or thatspace-age instant replay technology is used for "Stupid PetTricks" but not for NFL officiating. Or that something called thePresidents Cup recently turned up on TV, but was a golftournament, not a fixture of Bill Clinton's wardrobe. So thenation has recently suffered through two torturous televisionspectacles.

But why? Why do cruel ironies--and inexplicable injustices--aboundin this world? Twelve people will see Nagano, the new film fromOlympic auteur Bud Greenspan, while The Waterboy plays on ninescreens at your neighborhood Hexoplex. Michael Jordan no longerlingers forever in the air, but Michael Jordan cologne does. Thisis what you call having the worst of both worlds.

So we try to see the glass as half full: When Kevin Costnerappears, as he did last Saturday, in an NBC golf tournament inwhich celebrities try to win a Lexus sedan by getting a hole inone, we tell ourselves, At least he is not at work on a newmovie.

But such irrational optimism only goes so far. For instance, weknow the Lord works in mysterious ways--primarily, through ReggieWhite--but what can possibly justify the idea of last Saturdaynight's $500-a-ticket pickup basketball game on Showtime, theproceeds of which originally were to go to needy NBA players andcharities such as UNICEF? As Conan O'Brien rightly points out,these smug, greedy bastards have no business putting their hornyhands anywhere near such money. Shame on you, UNICEF!

All of which is to suggest that the apocalypse is nigh. TheBiblical signs are everywhere. A six-legged turkey recentlyappeared on Fox (it was John Madden's annual Thanksgivingcreation), even as a six-legged turkey was appearing on ABC (itwas the cast of Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place). Televisionviewers wonder: Can it be long now before that giant cartoonMonty Python foot comes out of the clouds to squash us all?

As humankind approaches the end of the 20th century, it looks forsigns of hope. Where? In the one place it knows to look: thetelevision set. (This is only appropriate. After all, we arethrough the looking glass here, people.)

Just when you're ready to give in to despair, our universal humanyearning pays off. A prophet arrives from another time, bringingtidings of comfort and joy. Dick Van Patten had been onlysporadically seen on television for the past two decades whensuddenly, without warning--on Wednesday, Dec. 16, at 3:30 p.m.EST--TV turned into Van Pattenpalooza. The powerfully comfortingand fatherly actor was, for no apparent reason, hosting The WorldSeries of Poker on ESPN and playing Tom Bradford in an Eight IsEnough rerun on something called the PAX network. Yes, PAX.Peace.

Dick Van Patten had come in peace--and, evidently, a hairpiece--toreassure a troubled world. There really was peace. In fact, forone shining moment, he was the only Dickie V on television.

Before he became the premier postseason performer of his generation, the Patriots icon was a middling college quarterback who invited skepticism, even scorn, from fans and his coaches. That was all—and that was everything